


Misplaced Adorations

by owlofathena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Humor, Unreciprocated Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlofathena/pseuds/owlofathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adolescent affection towards a certain professor at Hogwarts has a catastrophic effect on others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Each new autumn brought new students and new heartaches to the school, and - much to the chagrin of the student's educators - not all of the latter were directed at other teenagers.

Infatuations with teachers were not an unknown phenomenon at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, indeed, locked in a castle for ten odd months of the year, it was all but expected that the ample quantity of hormones raging through their bodies would drive adolescents to make odd choices for the recipients of their affections, occasionally bestowing the dubious honour on the adult staff members of the school.

Professor Sinistra was the typical suspect. Slender and soft-spoken, with large dark eyes framed by long lashes, the Astronomy professor was the object of many a student's more-than-platonic crush, although she remained naïve of all but the most obvious of them and was always shocked when one of her colleagues informed her that a pupil's enthusiasm in extra credit work was not motivated by academic interest. For the more athletically-inclined, the ever-approachable Madame Hooch was almost as crushable as Sinistra, attracting the attentions of almost half the Quidditch students she coached - male and female.

It wasn't limited to the female teachers. During his relatively brief stay at the school Gilderoy Lockhart had won over most of the female body, including several of his fellow teachers, although the affection had quickly worn off once it was discovered that the man was not nearly the wizard that existed in his literary adventures. Before he had retired, the handsome, dashing and painfully dim Care of Magical Creatures teacher Silvanus Kettleburn had been a favourite recipient of schoolgirl crushes, although interest had lessened when he had lost an arm from an infected Crup bite (he had ignored Healer's advice to have it treated - Poppy had never forgiven him for it) and dwindled down to almost none after the wizard had both legs torn off by a Welsh Green while hiking in the Cornwall district. Kettleburn had retired after this incident, and now ran a Hippogriff Sanctuary in Spain from the comfort of an enchanted wheel chair. The man still received love notes from his more persistent admirers.

There were exceptions among the staff, of course. Professor McGonagall's fearsome aura of power, both magical and disciplinary, did little to encourage romantic notions in her pupils. Students didn't harbor crushes on teachers that were universally feared.

Usually.

\---

'A student is stalking me,' Severus Snape announced as he strode into the staffroom under a figurative storm cloud, black robes billowing menacingly around his legs. 'I found Miriam Boyles lurking underneath my desk this morning after class. When I asked what she was doing there, she claimed to have 'lost an earring' and suggested I assist her in finding it.'

Only one teacher out of the dozen scattered around the sun-drenched room spared a glance up from their work. 'Boyles...Boyles...' said Charity Burbage as she tapped a finger on her lower lip, looking pensive. 'Ravenclaw seventh year? Brown hair? Attractive in a French sort of way? '

Charity was dreadful with names. Snape ignored her and walked directly to the tea set at the far end of the room.

'Hufflepuff fourth year. Curly blonde hair, glasses, chews her fingernails incessantly,' came the brisk answer from the centre table. Minerva McGonagall had every student and their time table memorized – useful for determining which students walking the halls during the day actually had a spare period - and could usually provide biographical information about a child's extended family on demand. It was quite an impressive skill considering that there were almost 300 students at the school. Minerva didn't look up from her marking as she continued. 'Her parents are wealthy stockbrokers in Surrey – she took Muggle Studies in her third year but chose not to continue after the first term.'

The Muggle Studies professor dropped her book into her lap and leaned forward, looking back and forth between Minerva and Severus with a disbelieving expression on her face. 'You can't possibly mean that ridiculous girl who ran away a few years back? The one the Ministry pulled out of a bog? Not that horrid girl?!'

If one ignored Harry Potter's annual encounters with the dark forces, the escape of a muggle-born eleven-year-old during the second week of flying lessons had been one of the more memorable events of the past decade. A determined and homesick Miriam had slipped away unnoticed while a friend had caused a diversion, flown her school broom as far as it would take her before crashing into a peat bog a dozen miles away (thus fulfilling the common complaint of the Comet 200 series – sudden loss of height at unexpected and typically inconvenient times).

A team of Obliviators had been called in to wipe the memory of the muggle farmer who had found the young girl - covered in mud and holding a broken broom - wandering around his cow pasture, rambling on about a castle and magic spells and how much she hated flying.

Severus scowled as he poured himself a cup of tea from the refilling pot on the side table. 'She had the misfortune to find her way back again.'

'What makes you think she was following you, Severus?' Filius piped up from a tall stool next to the sole desk in the room. The Charms professor had two dozen miniature paper cranes flapping around his head - a first year assignment. Some of the cranes were twitching on the floor, victims of inexperienced enchantments. 'Couldn't she have simply been hiding? A game of hide-and-speak?'

Tea in hand, the potions master turned on his heel to glower at his diminutive colleague. 'Miss Boyles has taken to following me through corridors in a manner which she laughingly believes to be surreptitious, leaving anonymous notes on my desk professing her undying devotion, and giggling inanely whenever I pass by her desk in class. It seemed the most likely explanation - ruling out the possibility of a poorly-mixed Befuddlement Draft or severe brain trauma.'

His tone indicated that he hadn't ruled out the latter entirely.

'Might it not simply be another Weasley product, Severus?' This observation came from the white-haired witch relaxing in one corner of the room on an elderly green velvet armchair almost as old as the woman who sat in it. Septima Vector's talents in magic were meagre at best, but her skills in reading runes were almost unsurpassed in Britain, and she was infamous in the student body for giving large quantities of homework on obscure translations in an valiant effort to find a worthy successor to her academic legacy. Septima was only a few years younger than Dumbledore, but like him, gave no indication of her age.

'Miriam may simply be silly,' offered Pomona Sprout, glancing back at her colleague. 'She was pining after Douglas Phipps – that dark-haired Ravenclaw - last month, and before that it was some Muggle named 'Johnny Depp' – her essay on the identification of South American Tentacula and its taxonomic relations was covered in his name.'

The Herbology professor didn't have any idea who this Johnny Depp was, not being up to date on recent Muggle history, but couldn't help but dislike him. Miriam had scrawled the name in every square inch of the margins on the parchment with pink sparkling ink and her paper had been quite painful to look at, let alone grade.

'I believe he's a famous 'part-gob', as the Muggles say,' Filius offered helpfully. 'On those electricity boxes with the moving pictures.'

'Heart-throb,' Charity corrected him kindly. 'The quickening of the heart whenever the object of one's affection is in sight'. She held her left hand over her heart as she said this, fluttering her fingers to mimic the pounding beat.

'How very disturbing,' the diminutive wizard whispered to himself. '– and the Muggles actually enjoy this?'

Charity's affirmation of the unnatural muggle affinity for celebrity-induced cardiac abnormalities was drowned out by a piercing scream from the hall outside the staff room, earning a few cursory glances towards the door. It was not an unusual occurrence, after all.

'I believe it is my turn.' said Pomona, rising to her feet with a sigh and making her way over to the door, setting her empty tea cup on the table as she passed by. 'Any guesses?'

'First year scared by a ghost.'

'Dueling injury.'

'Weasleys.'

\---

It was Minerva who confirmed Severus Snape's suspicions about Miriam Boyle's adolescent adorations the following week, after her seventh year class.

'Your homework for next Wednesday is a two-foot-long parchment detailing the differences between Maeve's Postulate and the New Transfiguratory Theory discussed today. Points will be deducted for sloppy referencing – you should be aware by now that I am reasonably proficient at differentiating between genuine page numbers and those which have been hastily jotted down in a last minute rush that was the result of procrastination. Those that do the latter will receive an automatic failing grade, regardless of the quality of their paper.'

She paused to let this last point sink in, levelling a stern look towards the desk where Dean Thomas and Ron Weasley were sitting. The latter looked quite worried.

'You are dismissed.'

The room of students immediately dropped parchment and quills into their bags and fled as fast as the one-person-at-a-time doorway would let them, jostling each other in an effort to be the first out of class. It was the final class on a Friday and the weekend beckoned with open arms.

'In an orderly fashion!'

The enthusiastic stampede of seventh years staggered comically to a standstill. Under their teacher's watchful eye, the class filed out quietly, with not even the slightest hint of pushing and shoving.

Sending one last scorching look at the backs of the retreating students, Minerva walked back to her desk and began to gather up her teaching materials. She was slipping the last student paper – 'Proto-Transfiguration of the Early Middle Ages and It's Impact on Modern Spells' – into her leather satchel (why hadn't Miss Brown learned the difference between contractions and possessives? Was her ignorance intentional?) when a soft cough made her look up.

Hermione Granger was the only student remaining in the room; her classmates eager to rush off and enjoy every minute of their weekend – at the regrettable expense of neglecting homework and studying. The young woman's book bag was slung across one shoulder and she had the look of someone who had a question, but was hesitant to approach for fear of disturbing her teacher. After seven years of having Hermione in her class, Minerva could read the young woman's body language without thinking about it, although in recent years her student had become far more reserved about approaching her with questions.

'Miss Granger. How may I help you?'

'I'm sorry to bother you on a Friday, Professor,' Hermione said, shifting her heavy bag off her hip so that her books weren't digging into her side, 'but I was wondering if you had read my report yet – the comparative review of Zherdev and Vyhovsky's work that I gave you on Monday.'

Minerva hadn't. Between five staff meetings, fourteen detentions, attending the Ministry function on Wednesday, seeing to a small fire in the third floor wing's eastern corridor that had left one Hufflepuff with a badly burnt forearm and a suspicious (and quite unconvincing) amnesia about how the fire had started in the first place, in addition to teaching all of her classes, there had been very little time to read a paper that was not in need of urgent marking.

'I have not yet had the opportunity, Miss Granger.' Minerva said with a sigh, slipping the last of her teaching materials into her own bag and picking it up off of her desk. 'If you will come with me, I will look at it now before supper.'

Locking the door behind her, Minerva and Hermione walked to the intersection and turned the corner towards the stairs at the end of the next corridor, only to find a crowd of twenty-odd students outside the History of Magic classroom.

A sharp word from the Deputy Headmistress parted the sea of students and revealed the source of all the interest. A plump young girl was tethered to the classroom door by a sturdy set of iron chains.

For someone in this state, she looked remarkably calm.

'Miss Boyles, what the devil are you doing..?!' Minerva exclaimed, aghast.

'Do not approach, sorceress! I remain until my dark prince comes to rescue me!'

'…And where in Merlin's name did you get those chains!?'

'I will only answer the questions of my true love!' came the passionate reply, the chains rattling noisily as Miriam shook her hand towards the sky. The chains in question looked very similar to set that had hung in Argus Filch's storage room for decades, the keeper oiling them every month in anticipation of being allowed to use dark age punishments when the Headmaster finally came to his senses. 'I shall not bandy words with you!'

Having reached her limit of the histrionics of a love-sick fourth year, particularly one who had been idiotic enough to chain herself to a classroom door, Minerva pointed her wand at the nearest of the iron links connected to the teenager.

To everyone's surprise, particularly Minerva McGonagall's; nothing happened.

Twenty-three sets of eyes turned wonderingly back to the girl stuck to the door.

'They are Unbreakable –' Miriam said with conviction, shaking her head in dramatic fashion, curls bouncing girlishly. 'Only Severus, my one true love, the twin of my heart, the match to my soul, can free me.'

And then as an afterthought she added, very unwisely; 'Begone foul enchantress – I shall not yield!'

As one, the crowd of students turned their heads back to Minerva, eager to see what her response to this new challenge would be.

The teacher raised an eyebrow.

With a terrific crack, the metal hinges connecting wood to stone burst apart, showering dust everywhere. At the careless wave of her wand, the now-damaged door flew out of its frame, scooping up the dusty young Hufflepuff still attached to it so as to carry her horizontally - chains and all.

The students applauded enthusiastically. Some cheered. A few were laughing so hard that they were in tears.

Miriam - judging by the sounds she was making - was not happy about this turn of events.

'Don't sulk, Miss Boyles. It is undignified.'

'This isn't how it's supposed to go!' the girl wailed as the door floated obediently behind Minerva; the odd group making their way through the crowd and towards the stairs leading to the first floor. 'You've ruined everything! I hate you!'

'As you grow older, you will become better acquainted with disappointment.' her teacher said briskly, turning her attention to the third member of their party. 'Miss Granger, if you would excuse me, I'm afraid I won't be able to meet with you today; this 'foul enchantress' has a package to deliver to the Infirmary.'

And with that, she escorted the still struggling fourth year down to the care of Madame Pomfrey.

\---

It took two hours, three vials of Bond-Be-Gone, and the combined talents of Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape to separate Miriam and the magicked chains from the History of Magic door. The Hufflepuff had fallen silent when the Potions teacher had walked into the room, but her eyes had burned with a fervent light and she did not look elsewhere save for a glare of loathing thrown at the Deputy Headmistress when she was escorted out the Infirmary by the Charms professor and back to her dormitory, several detentions richer. Severus had already departed to reattach the door to the History of Magic classroom.

'Better watch out for that one, Minerva,' said Poppy as she walked her colleague to the door of the Hospital wing. 'I've seen that look on girls before – no good ever comes of it.'

'I dealt with Voldemort and his Death Eaters for decades, Poppy,' Minerva said dryly, wrapping her scarf around her shoulders. 'I hardly think that a fourteen-year-old girl's personal vendetta will be beyond my coping skills.'

Poppy snorted in disapproval. 'There's nothing worse than a spoiled child, unless it's a spoiled child with rich, gullible parents. Mark my words, she's not going to forget this.'

'I shall risk it.'

\---

Minerva's confidence was misplaced. It took three months, but Miriam exacted her revenge.

Two and a half months later, the Deputy was called down to the Infirmary to deal with a student issue. When Minerva walked into the hospital wing, the matron was nowhere to be seen and Francine Burl and Andrew McGill - two fifth years - were sitting on the second bed against the windowed wall, locked at the lips with their tongues down one another's throats.

'Stop that!' she snapped. 'Physical displays of affection are inappropriate during school hours.'

Neither Miss Burl nor Mr McGill gave any indication of being aware that she was there. They were too absorbed in kissing each other senseless.

'Don't bother,' said Poppy, coming out of her office carrying two bottles. 'I've already tried - they don't seem to notice anyone aside from each other. I've found something that should work.'

She uncorked both bottles with a dramatic flair and upended them over the amorous couple's heads. 'Calming Draft - extra strong dose.'

Unfortunately, the effect of the potion was short-lived. The students parted for a brief moment, looking dazed and quite damp, but in seconds, they had made eye-contact and leaned in lips first.

'Right then,' huffed Poppy, clearly having lost all patience. She drew her wand from an apron pocket. 'Plan two...Somnus!'

The boy and girl fell asleep instantly, collapsing sideways onto the bed sheets with a soft thud.

'Odd,' Poppy frowned at the sleeping pair. 'It's rare that a student charm would be able to resist the potion. I'll have to contact St. Mungo's and see what they say about it.'

'No other reports in the school?'

'No, nothing,' The matron looked thoughtful. 'Unless you count Bertie Baxter's visit yesterday morning, but that was just a simple love spell - a counterspell did the trick.'

'Very well,' Minerva sighed. 'Keep me informed. The last thing we need is another wave of love potions sweeping through the school; the spring of 81' nearly did me in.'

Poppy shivered at the memory. 'Let's hope it doesn't come to that.'

Four days later, utter chaos that dwarfed the Love Potion Incident of 1981 broke out.


	2. Chapter 2

**11:05 am, Saturday, February 14th, 1998**

The first lucid thought Minerva had upon opening her office door that morning was that she was going to do grievous injury to Fred and George Weasley.

This would have been unfair towards the twins, as they had graduated several years previously, but there was always a certain 'touch' to Weasley tricks that years of experience had taught Minerva to recognize, and this exciting beginning to her work day had their grimy palm prints over it.

(No other person would have dared, and there was no other reason she could think of why - moments of stepping outside of her office to retrieve the fifth-year's assignments from her rooms - she was swarmed by a dozen students, all showering her with meaningless platitudes and praise.)

The fact that it was Valentine's Day only amplified the unpleasantness.

'Minerva, my Love!'

'You have transfigured my heart, Professor!'

'Your _hair_! It's so _pretty_.'

Shocked beyond words, Minerva stared at the mass of teenagers clustered around her until a vice-like grip on her legs made her look down. Susan Spinnet, shortest of the three Spinnet sisters and blessed with a seemingly inhuman strength, had latched on to Minerva's legs through her robes.

The girl gave no sign of letting go.

Minerva was not one to flee from a fight, but there were always exceptions to every rule.

Deciding that a hasty retreat to a place not flooded with even-stranger-than-usual students would the best course of action at that moment, and allow her to collect her thoughts; Minerva changed her cat form – freeing herself from Miss Spinnet – ran through the forest of legs and bounded down the hallway to safety.

Cries of disappointment could be heard from the horde that she had left.

After sprinting past three classrooms and several more students (carrying love letters of all things), she turned down a side passage and disappeared through the hidden tunnel behind a thirteenth century suit of German-made armor. Safe inside, the tunnel she reverted back to her proper form only to crash bodily into the person who had been coming through the passage the other way, causing her and the mysterious person to tumble to the rough stone floor in a heap.

Minerva was the first to draw her wand. The collision had knocked her glasses askew on her nose, and she used her left hand to hurriedly correct them, restoring her sight.

'Miss Granger,' she said warily, wand pointed at the young woman, ready to defend herself against another case of magical-induced affection.

To Minerva's delight; Hermione appeared blessedly unaffected by whatever magical spell had enchanted the student body.

'Professor McGonagall.'

Lowering her wand, Minerva stood back up to full height and motioned for the young woman to follow her down the narrow passageway.

'I was hoping to find you; the school's gone absolutely mad. Professor Sprout was running away from her first period class a few minutes ago and I saw Madame Hooch being chased by the Slytherin quidditch team-.'

'-I had gathered something was amiss when I left my quarters to find a mass of students overjoyed at seeing me,' Minerva said dryly, turning to enter an even narrower winding stairway that would take them down two floors. 'A rare occurrence, if you'd believe.'

'I have reason to believe that there was something in the pumpkin juice this morning that is responsible for the…unusual behaviour of the students.'

The elder witch came to a halt so fast that Hermione nearly stumbled into her again. 'What makes you so certain that it was the pumpkin juice?'

'...It seemed the simplest answer.' Hermione was clearly in her element of deductive reasoning. 'I missed breakfast, and Ginny doesn't drink pumpkin juice, and she's just as sane as I am right now - Parvati too. They're off trying to separate Professor Vector from a few students who got a hold of her. They're only trying to hug her, but still… '

'-And you came to rescue me, Miss Granger?'

Minerva's smile only showed in her eyes, but her voice was rich with amusement.

Hermione's face turned faintly pink. 'I came to check that you were safe, Professor, and to assist you in restoring the school.'

'I shall welcome the assistance. I am off to the Infirmary to meet with Madam Pomfrey and assemble resources to restore control to the school.'

They had reached the second-floor at the bottom of the stone stairs. With her hand on the door handle, Minerva glanced back.

'Sleeping spell, if you please. I imagine that with my luck there might be a personal 'fan club' waiting for us on the other side.'

And there was. As soon as they entered the hall, Minerva and Hermione were promptly swarmed by a small horde of screaming Ravenclaw second-years yelling "Eeeee!" and attempting to wrap their arms around any available body part.

' _Somnus_!' came the two voices in unison.

As a unit, the students collapsed bonelessly to the floor and began to snore on cue.

'Well then, Miss Granger.' Minerva said, placing her wand back in her sleeve and stepping briskly between the sleeping bodies littering the floor, as if using magic against her students was a commonplace activity. 'Let us see what we can do for the rest of the school.'

\---

Snape was already in the Infirmary when they arrived, pacing the breadth of the room and muttering under his breath. He rounded on Minerva when she and Hermione walked in.

'I have had a very _gruelling_ morning, Deputy Headmistress!' he growled without preamble, through tightly clenched teeth. 'It has involved unwanted attentions of numerous adolescents, a visit to the house elves in the kitchen, and an arduous process of discovering the qualities of a drugged drink that the majority of the students imbibed with their eggs on toast this morning.'

Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'You are able to shed light on this prank, Severus?'

'I isolated six different love potions in the bloody pumpkin juice that was served at breakfast, plus a delayed effect catalyst; and it could take me _days_ to concoct an antidote. I don't know how she did it,' he fumed. 'Either she's the most brilliant student Hogwarts has had in the past twenty years – four years of barely passing Potions says otherwise -, or she's had accomplices.'

'Accomplices?'

'Boyles!' the man snarled, thrusting a piece of perfumed parchment at Minerva. He looked to be on the verge of an apoplexy. 'That pigtailed Hufflepuff menace left this insipid _thing_ pasted to my door.'

The 'thing' in question was a love note written in glittering lavender ink, signed by Miriam with an elaborate calligraphic signature surrounded by several dozen hearts and a pink lipstick imprint of lips at the bottom.

Snape was pacing the floor again. 'I'd bet my life that she's behind this love potion, but as far as acquiring the ingredients...'

'...she would have had to go to the Weasley twins.' Minerva finished, feeling a mixture of bemusement and irritation. 'I do believe that I am going to pay a little visit to them tomorrow and have a civilized discussion about the sale of mind-altering substances to teenagers under my care.'

'Not if I get there first,' Snape muttered. He had been accosted by no fewer than twenty students when he had left his private rooms and his robes were looking quite rumpled. He was also missing his left shoe. Minerva wondered just what the students had done with that article of clothing and then quickly dismissed this thought as Something Better Left Alone. Sighing, she folded her hands behind her back and looked carefully at her meagre assets.

Severus. Very angry.

Hermione. Calmer.

The other teachers being chased by the majority of the student body. Absent.

'Severus, I shall deal with Miss Boyles when I find her, but I need you to begin constructing the antidote - I doubt the students' parents will be happy to learn that their children shall be spending an unknown amount of time under a magical sleep and it is best to keep the time as short as possible.'

'With pleasure. I would be...appreciative...if someone else cleared out the crowds that are infesting the dungeons before I return; I fear my restraint in putting them to sleep might be...lacking in professionalism befitting a teacher.'

Minerva didn't miss the veiled hint that students who accosted Snape on his travels through the castle might suffer injuries that could have been avoided easily. 'Very well. Miss Granger, you are with me.'

'I warned you, Minerva.' Poppy called after them. She had emerged from her office where she had been stuffing various potions and bandages into her travel bag in preparation to begin rounding up the sleeping students. 'I told you she'd want revenge.'

'No, Poppy. This is a 15-year-old school girl with too much money and an unhinged imagination. Incidentally, this is _also_ a 15-year old school girl who shall be spending the next year in detention if I can't get the Governors to have her expelled.'

\---

It took them several minutes to hurry across the school to where the stairs to the dungeons were. Evidence of Severus's retreat to the hospital wing lay scattered every few steps in snoring piles of slumbering students. When they came to the last turn, a large intersection with shoulder-high Hippogriff statues on either side, Minerva froze; holding out an arm to stop Hermione from walking past her.

The reason was a strange light the size of a crochet ball hovering several inches above the floor in the middle of the hallway.

A veteran of encounters with student spells, Minerva stayed well away from it.

'Professor? Is that one of Professor Snape's enchantments?'

'I do not recognize it as such.' Minerva answered, frowning. After a moment's pause, she pointed her wand at the ball of light and did something that she would regret for years: she cast a Vanishing spell at it.

Several things happened all at once the instant Minerva's spell hit the floating sphere.

The first was that there was a silent explosion of incandescent light, lighting up the dark hallway as bright as the sun and temporarily blinding her.

The second was Minerva being thrown off balance as a body - Hermione's - crashed into her side. Minerva's wand was knocked from her hand and skittering across the floor out of reach.

The third, and last, happened when Minerva fell forward into the passage leading down to the potions corridor. As she landed on her shoulder (this would leave an ugly bruise), there was another flash of light and a low hum as a cylindrical magical barrier six feet in diameter sprang to life around her and the unconscious Hermione.

A trap.

Minerva was caught in a trap without her wand, and could only see vague dark shapes and she had all but given up hope that she would be able to finish marking the fifth-year's assignments.

It wasn't even noon.

'Professor McGonagall! Oh this is a surprise.'

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Bright spots still dotted Minerva's vision from the first blast of light, and it was difficult to see clearly, but she could make out Miriam Boyles' distinctive pigtailed outline as the girl walked out from behind the hippogriff statue, an entrance more suited for a film villain. Miriam was pulling a pair of what looked to be Muggle industrial goggles off of her head and looked quite triumphant.

'You really do have a tendency for getting in my way, don't you, McGonagall?'

If Miriam was ever to become a genuine antagonist, she would need to lose her girlish voice.

'On the contrary, Miss Boyles; you have inconvenienced me,' Minerva did her best to ignore her smarting shins as she moved next to the unconscious Head Girl and felt for a pulse. 'I was on my way to the Dungeons until you intervened. Exactly what spell have you put on Miss Granger?'

'Delayed Sleeping Trap,' Miriam was examining her own nails. 'Weasley mail-order special; free with every purchase over 500 galleons. I did have to be sure that Severus would be alone when I caught him.'

'How inventive.' Minerva said dryly. 'And I'm guessing that the trap I find myself in has an age-limiting charm on it to make certain you didn't catch a student by mischance. And however did you manage the pumpkin juice love mimic?'

Miriam, true to the average 15-year-old girl's nature, enjoyed talking about herself. Minerva was using this time to weigh her options of escape, but was coming up short.

'...I snuck it in this morning when the House Elves were off cleaning. It's a custom love potion from the Wizarding Wheezes shop offered - where one potion is effective, six must be six times as effective. I even tested it on those two Ravenclaws last week – worked like a charm.'

It had; Burl and McGill had refused to be parted from one another even after awakening from their magically induced sleep; Burl becoming quite weepy when Madame Pomfrey relocated McGill to another – locked – room. Both students were presently in St Mungos, and the potion had yet to wear off.

As the Governors tended to disapprove of experimentation on the student body and Miriam was fulfilling the usual teenage trend of loving to boast about her accomplishments; Minerva felt relatively confident that she could have Miriam Boyles out of her school by this time tomorrow. Possibly permanently.

She managed to keep the joy she felt at this realization from showing on her face.

'So, are you planning to force-feed me magicked pumpkin juice? Set me to writing 'I shall not interfere with schoolgirl histrionics involving ridiculous stunts designed to attract the attention of adolescent crushes' a thousand times on parchment? I do have other things to do today, Miss Boyles, so I would appreciate if you could finish your inane plan to seduce Professor Snape so I may begin fixing what you've done to the school.'

'Oh, don't you think you're so clever,' Miriam sneered, hands on her hips. 'But you're not quite clever enough to get out of this next one; and since I'm not going to get a chance to use it on Severus, I think that you'll be a suitable substitute. _Ochail_.'

A previously unnoticed small box against the wall, just inside the magical barrier, sprang open at Miriam's command and pointed wand. There was a sudden explosion of powder and Minerva flinched away, covering her mouth and nose with her arm, only to be overwhelmed by a spicy floral scent.

As soon as the powder hit her nose a warm wave of desire pulsed through her lower abdomen and suddenly she knew exactly what horrible substance that powder had been.

_No, no, no._

This was worse than she could have possibly imagined.

'Well, that certainly acts fast, doesn't it?'

Miriam looked absolutely enthralled by the sudden change in demeanour of her professor, who had flushed the instant the small wooden box was opened and was now, judging by the perspiration had appeared on her pale brow, uncomfortably warm.

'I'm guessing you know what that was?"

'Antidote.' Minerva pushed the word through gritted teeth, the blood pounding in her ears. Where had Miriam found it? It was too rare. This had to be a variant, because if it was the true form, the cure would be impossible. 'Get Severus. _Please_.'

'And miss this? Not likely!' Miriam laughed. 'I'm staying to watch what happens. I still owe you for that door stunt last year. You clearly wanted my Severus for yourself!'

Screwing her eyes shut, Minerva threw her right hand above her head and clenched it into a tight fist. The wall of the Containment glowed blue for brief second before reverting back to the glassy state.

It was too strong. She needed her wand to focus magic of that magnitude.

'And don't try that silly wandless magic, either.' Miriam scoffed, hands on her hips. 'Won't work; I paid good money for that box. My family's rich, but 6000 pounds is no laughing matter – I told Daddy that it was for a racing broom. And that box was _nothing_ compared to how much time I spent acquiring that powder from Mongolia. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know.'

This news made Minerva sink to her knees, all her hope of counteracting the effects vanishing instantly.

There was no lasting antidote to the wild variant.

_This would be permanent._

'I've planned this for months,' Miriam said gleefully, stepping up to the wall of the magical cage and staring at the fallen professor with a wild look in her eyes. 'And if I can't have Severus, getting you thrown in Azkaban for inappropriate conduct will be a suitable substitute.'

The urge became nearly too much to handle and Minerva grasped desperately at her last straw, shifting to the form of her cat animagus. It lasted for all of ten seconds before she was forced to change back; too dizzy to hold the degree of concentration necessary for continuous animal shape.

'My dear Professor McGonagall – are we faltering?' came the sweet voice. 'Tempted by your precious Head Girl?'

Minerva was faltering. It took all of the self-control she had not to move closer to the Head Girl. She covered her face with damp palms, trying to block out the sweat dripping down the back of her neck and the overwhelming need that was impossible to ignore.

_Think, think, use your brain and get yourself out of this mess before the inevitable happens._

'I've turned the tables on you, Professor. I really don't know why you're so venerated; you obviously…'

Miriam's words were cut off at abruptly and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the stone floor punctuated the end of the abbreviated speech.

'Minerva. What in the name of _Merlin_ …'

Salvation had arrived in the unlikely shape of Severus Snape and Minerva had never been so happy to hear his voice. Somewhere since Minerva had seen him last he had acquired a shoe to replace the missing one.

With a wave of his wand, the magical cage fizzled out into thin air and Hermione was released from the magical sleep.

' _Malamour_ ,' Minerva gasped out as Hermione stirred and pushed herself slowly to her knees, blinking against the light. 'Wild-type. Get Hermione away from me.'

That was enough to make Snape stride forwards, grabbing a dazed Hermione's arm and dragging her up so that she stood on her feet, looking very wobbly.

'Move, girl.' Severus snapped, hauling Hermione behind him as he strode down the hall towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione stumbled twice, but didn't look back as she was pulled around the corner.

It took every scrap of Minerva's will to turn around, pick up her wand, and begin the journey back to her rooms.

Miriam was left in the middle of the hall where she had fallen.

\---

**Wednesday, February 18th**

'Where's McGonagall?' Ron choked out thickly through a mouthful of kipper and egg. It was the first time he hadn't drunk pumpkin juice for school breakfast in seven years; like most of the students in the Great Hall, he was sticking to milk after Saturday's excitement.

(Three days of magical sleep waiting for the potion's antidote to finish brewing had wrecked havoc on the student body's sleeping schedules.)

Hermione swatted at him with her freshly-delivered copy of the Daily Prophet. 'For Heaven's sakes, Ron! Some of us don't want to see your half-masticated breakfast!'

Ron rolled his eyes, but stayed silent until he'd swallowed. 'What I meant was that this is the third day she hasn't shown up in a row,' he clarified, reaching for another serving of buttered toast. 'She's never missed this many classes.'

'She's probably at the Ministry,' Ginny offered. 'Dumbledore used to disappear for days at a time.'

'Well Dumbledore was chasing down Voldemort, wasn't he? Hermione are you sure you don't...'

'I don't remember Ron! We were attacked, I was hexed, and when I came to, Snape was dragging me down the hall. He said that McGonagall wasn't injured and wouldn't answer any of my questions. That's all I know and _I haven't a clue where she is._ '

They were interrupted by a 'thud' sound from the Hufflepuff table where Miriam Boyles had fallen asleep face-first in her bowl of porridge.

\---

Only a select few in the castle knew that the Deputy Headmistress was in her rooms.

'Bad news first if you would, Severus.'

'The delightful Miss Boyles did not spare any expense,' Severus said in his usual matter-a-fact way. 'It was indeed the wild variety of Asian _Malamour_ , and as you already know, there is little that I can do to alleviate the effects until the potion has brewed for three weeks – it will be necessary for you to continue taking the Essence of Placation. As you well know, the Essence is going to be difficult for your body to handle over that length of time, and there may well be permanent damage.'

Minerva rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, eyes tightly shut. Three weeks away, three weeks avoiding the Head Girl of the school.

'Is it absurd to hope that there is some _good_ news to follow?'

'Miss Boyles mistakenly ingested a powerful sleeping draft during breakfast this morning and is currently resting in the Infirmary. I predict that she will awaken when the effects wear off.'

There was a moment of silence.

'And in your professional opinion, Professor Snape, when will the potion's effects wear off?' Minerva said, watching her colleague closely.

'With consideration for the girl's mass and age, two months from now.'

'Two _months_?'

'At the earliest.' The expression on the potion master's face was as close to a smile as she had ever seen it. 'It could be as long as five months; whomever brewed the potion took care to use the freshest ingredients possible.'

He paused.

"On a related note, I will have to dig into my department's budget - I seem to be out of the ingredients required to brew Insomnia drafts."

Leaning back against the headboard with a sigh, Minerva fixed him with a look.

'Miriam's parents will not be pleased,' she said dryly.

Snape snorted. 'I would certainly be _thrilled_ at the news if I had a child as silly as that one.'

Minerva pretended not to hear him. There was a pause and Severus took a step towards her, an unreadable expression on his face.

'If I may make a suggestion, Professor McGonagall?'

'You may.'

'The Room of Requirement is still functioning, is it not?'

The tall woman stiffened.

'What exactly are you implying, Severus?' Minerva asked quietly. She didn't have to ask; she knew exactly what he was hinting at because it had been something she had thought of too but dismissed immediately as being against all she held dear, no matter how desperate she was.

'If you insist on being noble; you certainly don't have to. I would venture to assume that you would find it preferential to the traditional alternative, although I'm sure your pet Head Girl would be agreeable. _Eager_ , even.'

'You go too far!' Minerva snapped.

The expression on Severus's face was almost pitying.

'Truly, Minerva, whatever adolescent adoration Boyles felt for me is dwarfed by Granger's affections for you. Surely you've noticed? I'm surprised the whole school hasn't by now.'

Minerva didn't respond. It had been several years now since she had first suspected it, and now, although Hermione had become much better at hiding her feelings, she was quite certain that they hadn't dissipated.

Sensing his colleague would not welcome an expansion on that subject, Severus changed over to another.

'Has your appetite returned?'

'No, it has not,' she said softly, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

Minerva had lost five pounds in three days of eating only the barest portions, having no stomach for food of any kind. The Essence of Placation was meant to calm a person for several hours – not to be used day after day out of concern for the profound adverse effects it had on the imbiber's metabolism and appetite. On Minerva's naturally slim frame, the loss was noticeable, and she couldn't afford to lose more.

'I will attempt to rectify that in my next batch – I fear that my supply of Remora scale was sub-par.'

'Thank you, Severus.' Minerva said sincerely, knowing that any more gratitude than this would be sneered at.

The tall man nodded once and then departed her quarters without a word, closing the door quietly behind him.

Minerva's head dropped back onto the pillow.

Poppy had been right. Brats with access to international sellers and large amounts of money should be made illegal.

\---

**Friday, February 20th**

'Professor?'

A cool hand touched her shoulder.

'Let me sleep, Poppy,' Minerva murmured, curling her arm around her pillow, finding a cool spot that hadn't been heated by her overtaxed metabolism. Poppy had been visiting her twice a day after she continued to lose weight, out of concern for her health, and Minerva hadn't the energy to deal with swallowing more potions today. She was bone-tired, and at the end of her tether...

...and the next words Minerva heard made her feel as though she had been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water.

'It's Hermione Granger, Professor. Professor Snape sent me with your afternoon potion – Madam Pomfrey's busy with a third year who Vanished his right leg.'

Minerva's eyes flew open. The Head Girl was standing over her bed, eyebrows knit in concern. When Minerva didn't answer her, Hermione bent closer to the bed and gently pressed the back of her hand against her teacher's damp forehead.

'You're burning up,' Hermione whispered.

'Her-… _Miss Granger_ …you need to leave. Now.'

Minerva sat up to push the younger woman away, only to lose her balance when the room swam before her eyes, pitching her sideways. Hermione's hands stopped Minerva from tumbling out of her bed, but the effort threw her off balance and left both women sprawled over the mattress and floor in an awkward heap.

Hermione was the first to move.

'Professor! I'm sorry, I didn't mean…' Hermione began, utterly mortified, her body pressed into the bed-covers by Minerva's so that their limbs tangled together in haphazard fashion. Minerva was wearing a sleeveless nightgown that fell to her knees and there was a lot of the woman's skin on display that Hermione had never seen and this made her even more uncomfortable. Hermione began to pull out her arm from where it was trapped under Minerva's bare shoulder, horribly embarrassed, a hot blush running down her neck and onto her chest. 'I'll g-'

And then she froze where she was because for the first time in a week, Hermione had actually _looked_ into her teacher's dark eyes and found something she'd never seen before.

Fear.

Minerva McGonagall, who had faced Voldemort, countless Death Eaters, and much of Britain's wizarding population during their adolescence, was terrified.

'Please go.' Minerva pleaded as Hermione looked at her with a wondering expression. 'Miss Granger. I need you to...'

A hand touching her knee stopped any further words.

'You're not just ill; Miriam used something on you in the hall, didn't she? When I was knocked out?'

Minerva had no strength to order Hermione out or even protest. Exhausted and unable to hide it any longer, she collapsed back against the headboard pillows and stared at the ceiling.

'Please tell me,' Hermione pressed softly.

It was a long time before Minerva spoke.

'While you were unconscious, the ingenious Miss Boyles used a powder from a plant called _Malamour mongolis_...'

'I've never heard of it.'

Herbology wasn't Hermione's favourite subject, but she was quite well versed in it; in their year only Neville had more knowledge about magical plants.

Minerva rubbed a hand roughly over her eyes. '-And I'm not surprised because it is exceedingly rare. Only a few dozen specimens are found each year in the Mongolian steppes of the Gobi Desert. There is a cultivated variety that isn't near as potent. Miss Boyles went to a great deal of trouble and expense obtaining a wild specimen with the intent of using it on Professor Snape, whom she had developed a romantic fixation on, but it was you and I who triggered her magical trap in the lower corridor, much to her chagrin."

'I don't understand,' Hermione was frowning. 'If it's like a love potion...won't it wear off? No love potion is permanent after all.'

Minerva let out a hollow laugh. 'No. The dried root of the plant works in a similar fashion to many love potions but the effects last for _decades_ rather than days. In some cases, it has lasted up to fifty years before wearing off. The plant stimulates the desire to...'

Her voice drifted off, and she turned her head away to escape Hermione's hand, which had come up to brush against her cheek to feel Minerva's temperature, as the woman looked even more feverish than she had when Hermione had arrived. Flushing, Hermione clenched her fingers into a tight fist so she wouldn't be tempted again.

'Is there a cure?' she asked quietly.

'Yes.' Minerva ran her hands over the red woollen coverlet resting over her bare legs. 'And there is also an antidote that would minimize the effects to a tolerable level over the long term.'

'I'm assuming Snape is brewing the antidote. How long until..?'

'...Two more weeks.'

'And the cure?'

'Professor Snape has been giving me a potion in the interim to calm my urges,' Minerva whispered, evading Hermione's question. 'There are some unpleasant side effects, but I should be able to stay reasonably healthy until...'

'But you've lost weight.' Hermione interrupted, catching hold of a too-thin wrist. 'You're not eating, are you?'

Minerva shivered at the touch. Hermione's fingers were resting on her bare skin, and a delicious tendril of warmth was curling up her arm.

'It is an unwelcome side-effect of the palliative potion I am taking. Please, Hermione,' she protested, trying to pull away from the irresistible distraction of skin contact. 'You need to leave...'

'But what will you look like in two weeks? The cure.' Hermione pressed her, leaning forward so her teacher couldn't shrink back, still loosely holding on to her wrist. 'What is it? How bad could it be? Or couldn't you simply avoid Miriam until the antidote is finished brewing?'

'No.' Minerva breathed out, her gaze was now resting Hermione's lips, her pupils so dilated that her eyes looked almost black. The young woman was too close; the potion that dulled her senses couldn't work at this close proximity. 'Please… _I can't_ …'

'But I don't understand -' Hermione protested, now near exasperation, both of her hands clasped around her teacher's slim hand. 'Miriam's gone off to St. Mungo's. You're in no danger of running into her in the halls here, so why can't you just...'

And then, to Hermione's complete shock and surprise, and in contradiction to everything she had ever believed about her Head of House, the elegant woman she had known for years closed the scant space between them and kissed her fiercely on the mouth.

Hermione felt light-headed, and hot, and scattered all at once. Her skin was prickling and blood pounding in her ears. Her teacher's body was radiating an extraordinary amount of heat in the cool room, and it was mere seconds later that Minerva's lips left hers and the woman had collapsed limply into her arms.

'It isn't Miriam,' Minerva whispered against Hermione's shoulder, eyes tightly shut, fingers curled around Hermione's arms in a painful grip, her nails digging into her skin. The unflappable witch sounded like she was near tears. 'The powder creates a powerful attraction to the closest person...and you were closer, Hermione, and for the love of _Merlin_ ,' this word came out as a strangled gasp, 'I need you to walk out that door right now because I am about to lose what little control I have left.'

Hermione's mouth worked silently, opening and shutting.

 _'GO!'_ Minerva snapped at her, pushing her roughly away from the bed.

\---

Hermione went directly to the library into the Herbology section and read for an hour, going through seven different texts and pulling two books from the restricted section. Having found what she had been dreading, she returned to the Gryffindor dormitory, dressed in her coat, hat and scarf, left the castle's grounds, crunching through the snow to the very edge of the Forbidden Forest.

It was only then that she allowed herself to dissolve into tears, utterly heartbroken.

She knew what this meant. If in the future, if it had ever been possible for Minerva McGonagall to feel something towards her, anything at all, it would now be dismissed as an unwanted aftereffect of the plant. Hermione's hopes had been in vain. The slimmest possibility of the thing she had wanted most in the world had been eliminated.

And worst of all, Hermione had heard the revulsion in her teacher's voice, the disgust of manufactured attraction, and moreover, disgust of attraction directed towards _Hermione_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wednesday, March 11th**

The Transfigurations classroom began to buzz with furtive whispers when Professor McGonagall walked in through the door instead of the expected substitute who had been teaching for the past month.

Seamus Finnigan, who had taken over Fred and George's role as resident trickster of the school, pushed the Multiplying Firework back into his bag with his foot. Playing pranks on substitute teachers was one thing, but playing them on Minerva McGonagall was an invitation for more detentions than there were days in the school year.

Much of the curiousity was due to the fact that no explanation had been offered by the other teachers about McGonagall's absence beyond 'unexpected illness', which only fueled speculation and before the day was through, theories abounded in the school about the circumstances surrounding her time away (Dragonpox, a Splinching accident, Voldemort had returned from the dead and made her his vampire bride, etc).

But by suppertime, the general consensus among the student body was that McGonagall must have been near death's door, and was still only a step away from it as it was. Not only did she look thinner than they'd ever seen - even compared to the year under the tyranny of Amycus and Alecto Carrow - but admonishments for inappropriate class behaviour seemed to sap her of what little energy she had. Certainly McGonagall's tolerance for student antics was no different from when she was healthy, proven by the double set of detentions she gave out to Dean and Seamus for inappropriately transfiguring their pig. There was however, a sense of fatigue that hung about her, so different from the ever-watchful and aware teacher they knew.

Distracted by McGonagall's gaunt appearance, none of the students noticed that their teacher was looking everywhere except at Hermione Granger, who - for once in her life - wasn't volunteering to answer questions.

\---

The second period class ended at the bell and was followed by a semi-orderly rush to the Great Hall for lunch. As soon as the last student had run out of the classroom in search of food, Minerva slumped against the desk. A whispered spell locked the door and she let her knees buckle, half-falling into her chair.

Severus's potion, which had taken three weeks of brewing to complete, was effective. The new potion - an antidote far more potent then the suppressants she had been taking - would minimize the attraction almost entirely, provided she continued to take it every week. Unfortunately, the side effect of such effective barrier to the induced desire caused by the _Malamour_ was complete and utter exhaustion. Two sections in a row drained Minerva beyond measure, leaving her in a state of lethargy unmatched by anything she'd ever felt in all her years of teaching.

There was so much to do; lessons vital to student learning that she had been forced to miss, assignments beyond count to be graded and returned and Deputy duties which were almost as important and Minerva wanted nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner and sleep for a year.

\---

The evening of McGonagall's return, Hermione received a note from Professor Flitwick informing her that she was to continue coming to him until further notice for duty reports and meetings.

'Professor McGonagall is still under the weather -' he said when Hermione caught up with him after supper at the head table. McGonagall was nowhere to be seen, having been the first teacher to retire after the meal. 'I've offered to continue taking on some of her responsibilities until she's feeling better.'

Her face must have shown her disappointment because he gave her a cheery look. 'Fear not, Miss Granger, I've no doubt that we'll have the same success together.'

'Of course, Professor,' Hermione said.

She already preoccupied with other things as she gave the day's report.

\---

**Friday, March 13th**

Fresh snow was falling outside the classroom windows as Minerva packed her leather satchel with student assignments to be marked. Finished with the last class of the day, she was planning to escape to her rooms and have supper delivered there, allowing her some measure of rest to recover from three full days of teaching. For once, she was going to listen to Poppy's advice of bed rest.

'Professor McGonagall, I was hoping to speak with you.'

Minerva's back stiffened at the familiar voice from behind her but when she spoke her words were brisk.

'Miss Granger, I fear I am on a tight schedule and need to leave immediately. If your question could wait until next Wednesday's class, I'd very much prefer...'

But Hermione was not to be so easily dismissed.

'My apologies, Professor. Would you prefer that I not attend your classes or must I leave Hogwarts entirely?'

Silence greeted Hermione's words. After the space of several breaths – making sure that her facial expression revealed nothing about her internal struggle - Minerva turned around.

'I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Miss Granger,' she said carefully, meeting Hermione's gaze with a steady one of her own.

Hermione's chin lifted.

'Then let me be more clear, Professor. It's the same reason you haven't said more than a few necessary words to me since your return and the reason you purposefully avoid me at any chance and the reason why I am supposed to continue reporting my duties as Head Girl to Professor Flitwick; who is neither my Head of House nor the Deputy!'

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Hermione's expression was one of profound hurt, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

Minerva's mask-like visage was betrayed when she let out a shaky breath.

'I find it... _difficult_...to concentrate while you are near,' she said quietly.

'I _understand_.' Hermione said softly, tears of frustration in her eyes. 'I can't put into words how much I understand what it's like. Please don't shut me out.'

Minerva met Hermione's gaze briefly before she turned away and continued her task of placing folders of student work in her teaching bag. The sleeve of her heavy robe slipped back while she was lifting the last of the papers, and Hermione's breath caught at the sight of a wasted wrist, the individual bones and tendons pronounced under pale skin.

Whatever this antidote Minerva was taking now to grant her the ability to teach again, it was obviously draining her of any energy that could be used to heal: she couldn't have lost less than twenty pounds during her absence.

'I have a proposal...to help you,' Hermione said haltingly, wishing more than anything she could place her hand on Minerva's too-thin arm and reassure her that everything would be alright, but well aware that Minerva wouldn't derive any comfort from this action. '...If you were willing.'

Minerva looked up sharply. 'I assure you, Miss Granger,' she began angrily, prepared to defend herself against _that_ idea until her final breath. 'I will not let...'

'Please hear me out. I...have a way to help you that doesn't involve...me.'

Minerva stayed silent, but her displeasure was obvious by the set of her jaw.

'From what I've read,' Hermione said carefully, 'it is the physical shape that matters. It worked for a Prussian wizard in the early 1900s after the woman he had focused on died and he...well it doesn't matter, but I believe that it _would_ work again.'

Realizing that action was better than any words she could say, Hermione slipped a small envelope out of her robe pocket and placed it on the desk, sliding it towards Minerva.

'I give you this with the full knowledge of what such a cure entails,' she whispered. 'Please use it on someone you trust.'

And before Minerva could speak, Hermione shouldered her school bag and hurried away, closing the classroom door quietly behind her.

It was a long while before Minerva picked up the envelope on her desk. Slitting its side lengthwise, she paused before slipping its contents into her hand.

When she saw what it was, she sat down on her chair and covered her face with her hands.

\---

**Saturday, March 14th**

Minerva had sat down to start marking a week's worth of student essays and barely had quill to parchment when the door swung open.

Pomona Sprout walked into the office, carrying a thick stack of parchment in her arms. She was quite clean by Pomona standards - her fly-away hair missing the usual vegetative accruements of twigs and leaves and only a minimal amount of potting soil on her sleeves.

Minerva took one look of the pile of parchment she was carrying and frowned.

'If those are more letters from the Governors about promoting the appearance of student success by falsely inflating grades, Pomona, I am resigning.'

Pomona barked out a laugh as she dropped her burden on the only clear spot on Minerva's desk.

'I almost wish that they were; it would have saved me two hours of mental injury that I didn't deserve.' Stretching her back, she put her hands on her hips and frowned at the rest of the mess in Minerva's office, which was normally immaculately tidy. 'I can say with certainty that our dearly departed Miriam had _elaborate_ fantasies about Severus, now that I've been privy to them.'

After a review panel had convened, Miriam Boyles had been expelled from Hogwarts for 'significant disruption of the school year, poisoning a staff member, and behaviour unbecoming of a young witch'. Miriam had yet to wake up from her drugged sleep, of course, and would likely be living in St. Mungos for quite some time yet. Severus had looked almost cheerful the morning they received the confirmation of her expulsion.

Minerva's eyebrows lifted as a silent question.

"Our friend Miss Boyles had quite the literary streak.' Pomona elaborated, tapping her index finger on the pile of papers she had brought in. 'She wrote down many of her imaginary exploits and stashed them under her bed in a box. When she left, the house elves brought them to me as her Head of House, but I think you may be interested to see them too.'

Frowning, Minerva picked up the top-most piece of parchment and began to scan, eyes narrowing at the first sentence. Pomona watched silently, but she was obviously having tremendous difficulty keeping a straight face.

Midway through the second page all the colour had drained from Minerva's cheeks.

'Explicit, aren't they?' Pomona observed casually as she watched Minerva's reaction. 'By the third page she goes into the details of what she is wearing for each encounter. She seems quite fond of listing the name of the maker of each article of clothing-.' She frowned, before adding '- and of the word "cute" as a descriptor, although it all sounds perfectly horrific.'

Minerva's facial expression was growing more incredulous at each page, and after another half minute of reading, disgust was etched into her fine features.

'Am I to understand that I am the...' she glanced down at the parchment for the exact words, mouth twisting as she continued '... _wrinkled crone determined to steal the ebony haired prince_ away from Boyles' poorly-disguised alter-ego?'

'The character speaks in what seems to be a very poor attempt to phoneticize a Scottish accent, so yes, that was my guess too. How did it go?' Pomona closed her eyes, concentrating. 'Something like... _Ooch, tha' laddie is mine forever, lass, an' ye' better git out o' mee sight if ye' wan' ta' see dawn_.'

Dark eyes flashed.

'I do _not_ sound like that!'

Pomona laughed uproariously. 'And you haven't many wrinkles either, Minerva, and I don't think anyone with decent vision would describe you as a crone. Severus's alter-ego certainly sounds more chivalrous than I've ever heard, and if I am ever forced to read another paragraph detailed his silky ebony locks and eyes the colour of obsidian, I shall gouge out my own eyes with my best trowel.'

'Ridiculous girl.' Minerva tsked in irritation, dropping Miriam's fictional escapades onto the desk.

'You've forgotten what it's like to be that age,' Pomona said thoughtfully, a faint smile on her lips, 'I seem to remember a certain young woman two years above me pining after her Transfigurations professor.'

'I never drugged three-quarters of the student body and wrote garbage like this,' Minerva retorted, turning around to continue her reorganization of five classes' worth of essays. 'My memory is certainly crystal clear on a fifth-year Hufflepuff student - whom I shall not name out of respect for our long-standing friendship - sending flowery poetry in iambic pentameter to her Astronomy teacher.'

Pomona snorted. 'Well, we can't all be like Hermione Granger and suffer in silence.'

At the mention of Hermione's name, Minerva visibly flinched, and half of the fourth year essays slid off their pile, untouched.

'Good Lord, Minerva,' Pomona said in exasperation, watching Minerva pick up the fallen papers from the carpet with a careless wave of her wand. It was the first time she'd seen Minerva lose her cool in ages - Minerva McGonagall did not have magical outbursts, and when she did it was because she was close to breaking apart. 'You're not the only one who's taught her the last seven years. Granger's not the type to make a big display, and I doubt that she'd ever even tell you outright about her feelings because she knows what your answer would be -.'

'Pomona,' Minerva warned.

Pomona laughed humorlessly, ignoring her. '- And I've known you since I was eleven, Minerva, and the last half century has given me ample time to learn how to read you like a book. You were well aware of how the poor girl felt years before you were cursed. It's obvious that something happened between you and Granger in the past month, and I'd wager a bag of Brazilian Badger bulbs that it was because that ridiculous plant made you fixate on her rather than Miriam as you had implied. If nothing else, it proves that Fate has a nasty sense of humour.'

The shuffling sound signaled that Minerva had resumed sorting the essays.

'Shall I talk to her?' Pomona said gently.

Minerva's slim shoulders sagged, as if the very thought of this was painful. 'No.'

'You have to tell her - or at least tell her the barest truth, Minerva. Leaving her in the dark as to why you've been avoiding her would be cruel, and Granger's looked absolutely wretched these last few weeks...'

'-Forgive me, Pomona, I should have been more clear. Fate conspired against me; Miss Granger found out the reasons for my illness when Severus sent her up with my potions nearly a month ago.'

Pomona gasped.

'Sent her up to _your room_?!' 'You didn't...'

Minerva whipped around to face Pomona, her expression equal measures hurt and angry. 'Do you honestly believe I'd be standing here if _that_ had happened?'

'Of course not,' Pomona said softly, shaking her head. 'But you were tempted, otherwise you wouldn't be feeling so damnably guilty about it.'

'How could I not be tempted? That cursed plant - whenever I was near her, I wanted nothing more than to...'

Minerva's voice trailed off and she covered her face with both hands, sounding utterly miserable as she continued haltingly onwards.

'Even with the Essence of Placation dampening my senses, as soon as I noticed her in the room, my body burned with need. And when she was closer, the urge was even stronger - it was overwhelming. She got so close that I couldn't help myself and kissed her and it took _everything_ I had not to go further.'

There was a long moment of silence before Minerva continued on.

'Miss Granger came to me after class last week.'

'She offered to help, didn't she?' Pomona guessed.

In response, Minerva opened the top drawer of the desk and picked up the envelope that Hermione had given her, setting it on the desk.

'A lock of her hair.'

Pomona frowned at the envelope.

'Seems like a rather old fashioned way of expressing affection. I'm not sure I follow.'

'She wanted me to use Polyjuice potion - or rather, have a lover of my choosing take Polyjuice to acquire her shape and break the effects through, well - I don't need to tell you how.'

Pomona's eyebrows rose as high as they would go.

'Would it work?'

Minerva's silence told all. Sighing, Pomona walked around the desk and took her friend into her arms, silently marveling at just how thin Minerva's illness had left her, able to count every rib by touch.

'Oh you poor, poor dear. In a pickle and no mistake.'

They stood there for a long moment in the embrace before Pomona spoke again.

'Minerva, I realize that I'm your friend, but if you did need...someone, I certainly wouldn't mind being Granger's size again, even if it was only for a short time.'

Minerva didn't answer.

\---

**Monday, March 16th**

The excitement of Monday happened during the NEWTS afternoon Potions class. Parvati spilled her Silencing potion while decanting it and some drops of the liquid splashed onto her desk partner Hermione's hand. When Hermione opened her mouth to warn others around her, no sound came out.

It didn't take long for Snape to notice.

'Good Lord, are we to spend the rest of the day without hearing Granger's prattle?' he sneered as Parvati and Hermione mopped up the mess with conjured sponges. 'What benevolent being do we owe for this rare pleasure?'

Hermione - unable to defend herself verbally - settled for a reproachful look.

'Consider yourself lucky it was only superficial skin contact - you'd be struck dumb for half a year if it had been ingested.' Snape's tone indicated that this was something he would have enjoyed greatly. 'As it is, Granger, you should regain your astonishing ability to converse within the next week or so.'

The class ended with the assignment of a three-foot-long essay on preventable potions accidents. Students grumbled as they filed out, sending glares at Hermione and Parvati as they went.

'Miss Granger, a word if you please.' Professor Sprout called from the end of the hall as the class was leaving the dungeon stairwell and walking towards the Great Hall.

Hermione gave a silent sigh and turned around.

'Professor, she's unable to speak; there was an accident in Potions and...'

'So I've heard, Weasley,' she said, waving Ron away. 'Go off to dinner - I'm sure we'll manage. This way, please, Miss Granger.'

\---

**Saturday, March 21st**

Minerva looked at the clock for the third time in as many minutes. It was almost ten o'clock and she had rarely been this on edge. The tightness in her chest had settled into a feeling of uneasy longing.

The soft knock on the door made her heart leap.

The words 'come in' stuck in Minerva's throat.

Her visitor walked in without an invitation and shut the door with a click of the lock. Minerva didn't turn around, forcing herself to stay seated on the chesterfield.

Waiting.

The sound of light footsteps across the carpet only increased her agitation.

The hand that brushed up her back to settle on her neck almost made her jump. She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scent, finally allowing herself to _want_.

The physical form was only a shell. It wasn't really _her_ \- it was somebody she could trust, somebody who would keep this a secret, and save her from a lifetime of bone-weary fatigue.

Deft fingers slipped out the hair pins holding Minerva's bun in place, and hands sank into the silky mass of dark hair as it tumbled down over Minerva's shoulders.

Her resistance collapsed at that moment, and she turned her head to meet soft lips hungerly with her own. The other woman melted in to her, tugging the lambswool shawl from Minerva's shoulders and letting it slide to the carpet.

They broke apart for air, but Minerva had barely caught her breath before the lips were pressed against her own again.

The fierce need took Minerva by surprise. To see the calm and collected young woman she knew so desperate for contact.

She hadn't ever been this aroused.

' _Hermione_ ,' she breathed.

It was all too easy to imagine that it was real. Only the moment mattered, everything else was irrelevant compared to the feeling of this woman in her arms.

She didn't want to know which of her friends had drawn the short straw.

\---

**Tuesday, March 24th**

Pomona frowned when she saw the expression on Minerva's face as she sat down beside her at the teacher's table.

'I don't want to know who it was.'

'Well, it wasn't _me_ , Minerva. Now, can we eat without all this awkwardness? You look brighter than I've seen in a long while, and I'm over the moon about the fact that it worked.'

\---

A stone's throw away, a similar conversation was being held.

'McGonagall's looking better today, isn't she?' Ginny observed. 'Well, certainly better than the walking skeleton wearing her clothes this past half month. She even had the energy to tear the hide off of Smithson when he set fire to Dean's chair in class yesterday.'

'It's just weird,' Ron muttered. 'I'd pay good money to know why she was ill.'

'There's a pool going around -' Seamus said around a mouthful of cheese-on-toast. '- Three to one odds that she had Dragonpox-.'

'The scars are permanent, so she can't have had that,' Ginny interjected. 'When I'm her age, I want her skin. There's an advantage to spending most of your time indoors or wearing a hat.'

'- and five-to-one odds that she was poisoned.' Seamus finished.

'My cards said that she was love sick.' Lavender interrupted. 'I read them three times last week, and they said the same thing every time. It's only on Sunday that they changed.'

That section of the Gryffindor table erupted into raucous laughter.

'The cards never lie!' Lavender protested. 'And that fifth-year Hufflepuff - that plump one with the pigtails - Marian or something - was expelled at that same time when McGonagall left. I think she was responsible. Not just for poisoning the rest of us - she must have done something to McGonagall too.'

'Sick with love?' Seamus guffawed, 'Oh, that is the best thing I've ever heard. I'd give 100 to 1 odds on that.'

Ron snorted. 'God, can you imagine McGonagall in love? No wonder she was ill - she's probably allergic.'

\---

**Friday, March 27th**

It was after supper and dusk was fast approaching when Hermione found herself on the hill leading down to Hagrid's hut, hunting for patches of harvestable mountain heather. Potions that morning had used up the last of her roots and Snape had hinted that next week's class would require more. Unfortunately, there was a considerable amount of snow from the previous evening's storm, and the ground beneath it was frozen solid. Even her conjured trowel was making a rough go of it, and she didn't dare risk magic because of the dangers of interacting effects with potions that the ingredients would be used in.

Hermione had been chipping away in the frozen dirt with her trowel for the better part of twenty minutes when she heard a familiar voice a short distance away.

A glance in that direction showed Minerva McGonagall telling off a pair of students on the pathway to Hagrid's hut. The wind carried her sharp words across the stretch of ground and Hermione was able to hear her final admonishments.

'...The Forbidden Forest is not any more welcoming in the winter – indeed, the snow on the ground only means that it is easier for a search party to find your mutilated corpses by following the footprints! _Do not smirk, O'Neill_ \- _I'm not_ joking, and if you are caught sneaking out in this direction again I will _personally_ supervise your detentions! Ten points from Ravenclaw each and it shall be far more if you're not back in the school within the next three minutes.'

Hermione turned back to her work as the students hurried back up the path towards the castle.

She was tugging out a particularly stubborn section of root when the soft crunching of snow signaled the approach of another.

'Miss Granger.'

Hermione straightened from her stooped crouch to stand up, and was immediately made aware of just how long she'd been in that position by the stiffness in her knees.

'Professor - I was just collecting some heather root for Potions. The book mentioned that freshly-picked yields a more potent...'

She hadn't quite adjusted to having her voice back - a week without it had made her less inclined to speak out, much to the dismay of her classmates who had been forced to fend for themselves during class discussions.

Minerva raised a slim hand.

'I am not here to chase you away, Miss Granger. I was on my way to leave the grounds when I ran into a pair of particularly disobedient students, and noticed you.

Hermione couldn't help but notice that Minerva was shivering slightly.

'Are you all right, Professor?'

Minerva's lips thinned, as if she would have preferred that Hermione not have noticed her predicament. 'I fear my metabolism has not quite returned to normal from my ordeal - I am feeling the cold more acutely than usual.'

Automatically, Hermione pulled her wool scarf from her neck. 'Here,' she said, offering it to Minerva. 'I'm quite warm enough from digging through the frost.'

Before Minerva could open her mouth to protest, Hermione reached out and wound her scarf around her teacher's exposed throat. This was made easier by the fact that Minerva was on the lower side of the sloping hill.

'Miss Granger, you are quite determined.'

Minerva seemed to be struggling to stop herself from smiling.

'I hate to see you ill,' Hermione murmured. 'You've been through so much these past few months.'

Minerva tilted her head to the side, regarding Hermione for a long moment before speaking.

'Would you walk with me a while?'

\---

They made their way down the slope to Hagrid's garden, and then - to Hermione's surprise - into the Forbidden Forest, the very place the Ravenclaws had been trying to sneak into. Minerva didn't make any attempt at conversation, so Hermione assumed that she wished it that way and stayed silent.

The woods were quiet; a thin layer of fresh snow from the night before blanketing the ground. Minerva moved quickly - long legs carrying her at a pace that Hermione struggled to match. Several times she slipped on a patch of ice lurking under the fresh powder and nearly fell when her toe caught on a hidden tree root. It was difficult because the evening light was fading fast. Once Hermione thought she saw eyes in the distant gloom, but when she turned around to get a better look, they had disappeared.

But for all the dangers that Hermione had encountered in these woods - centaurs, giants, and werewolves - she didn't feel unsafe.

And how could she? The one person she trusted most in the world was with her.

When they had been walking for a while, Minerva finally spoke.

'I am meeting a very old acquaintance in these woods tonight, Miss Granger. I ask that you refrain from speaking until I tell you to; she is quite shy of newcomers.'

Hermione nodded, wondering who or what they were going to meet. Her immediate guess was one of the centaurs, but she'd never seen a female centaur and wondered whether it could be another denizen of the forest.

A werewolf perhaps?

But Minerva did not offer any more hints, only continuing to make her way through the maze of tree trunks and down the gradual slope.

They reached a large glade after half an hour of entering the Forbidden Forest. It was ringed by tall oak trees, bare limbs spreading above the clearing and nearly touching the branches of the trees on the opposite side of the circle. The sun had almost set, and the first stars were appearing in the sky overhead. The fresh snow had been marked with the occasional tracks of small animals and deer, but here it was untouched and pristine.

Hermione felt a light touch on her arm.

'Wait here.'

Minerva moved with light steps through the undisturbed powder, stopping at the very center of the grove. Then, hands clasped in front of her, staring out into the forest on the other side, she stood perfectly still. There was little wind, but the tails of Hermione's scarf, wrapped around Minerva's neck, waved in the cool breeze.

Long minutes passed and darkness settled fully over the forest. The chill had begun to set into Hermione's body - now that she was no longer moving her only source of warmth was the insulation of her jacket. She shuffled from one foot to the other, trying to make as little noise as possible, but this only caused some snow to come over the tops of her boots. Her nose was numb, and her jaw muscles frozen to the point where she doubted that she could have spoken even if silence wasn't necessary.

After a considerable wait, a light appeared deep in the trees on the other side of the glade. It lit up the snow as if it was the moon, casting faint shadows of the trees into the emptiness of the grove.

Hermione blinked as it came closer, finally realizing what the glow was from.

The unicorn was the purest white imaginable and it - or rather 'she', if this was what Minerva had spoken of meeting - was very old indeed. Hermione had used unicorn horn in Potions - spiraled bone the colour of old ivory - but this one looked like the clearest glass; translucent and shining, and as sharp as broken crystal. Hermione had known that unicorns could live as long as two centuries, and this one must have been near to those years to have a horn such as this.

Minerva stayed silent as the unicorn walked up to her, head hanging low. There was a moment's pause, and then Minerva took two measured paces forwards so that she was at the creature's shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, witch and unicorn, standing in the center of the glen, the snow glowing softly around them.

'Hermione.'

Hermione nearly jumped at the sound of her name, as it had been many minutes since either Minerva or the unicorn had made a movement. As quietly as she could, she made her way over to the pair, inwardly wincing at the sound of the crunching snow under her boots.

Minerva looked at her with reassuring eyes, and reached for Hermione's hand as she came to stand beside her, wrapping her cool fingers around the Hermione's palm.

'Hermione, this is Ùrgaelach,' Minerva said quietly, 'She is the oldest creature in this forest, and one whom I have known for most of my years here.'

Large liquid eyes the colour of the night sky were fixed on Hermione, and - although Hermione knew she was perfectly safe - she couldn't help but feel a small thrill of fear. The mare must have been 16 hands at the withers and her horn was the length of Hermione's outstretched arm. A sense of power radiated around the unicorn of age, and magic, and of something wild and impossible to pin down.

For an absurd moment Hermione wondered if she should curtsy.

The unicorn took a step towards her, then another, and Hermione nearly stopped breathing as the swan-like neck extended and the unicorn sniffed at her hair, nostrils flaring. Hermione tightened her grip on Minerva's hand, but did not pull away from the unicorn's curious ministrations as the creature brushed over Hermione's head with her delicate muzzle, sniffing every moment or two.

Minerva's fingers squeezed her own back in a reassuring manner and Hermione closed her eyes, trying to memorize the sensations of long fingers laced in her own. All she could hear was the unicorn's soft inhalations and exhalations and the sounds of the forest in the night. The only metronome was Hermione's heartbeat, loud in her ears.

Evidently satisfied with her inspection of Hermione, the unicorn turned to nudge her nose gently against Minerva's shoulder. With a fond smile, Minerva pressed her lips to the creature's jaw, murmuring something that Hermione couldn't quite make out. Her hand were still joined with Hermione's, and Hermione closed her eyes again, lulled into a trance.

When she opened her eyes, the unicorn had gone.

\---

The trip back to the edge of the woods was as quiet as the one from it had been. They walked without wand light - it took a long time before Hermione's eyes adjusted from the brightness of the unicorn to the dark shadows they were walking through under the canopy of thousand-year-old oaks. They followed the same path they had taken, and when she looked behind them, their tracks were gone.

When they had reached the edge of the forest, the lights of Hogwarts just faintly visible through the trees, Minerva drew to a stop under a large oak and turned to face Hermione.

'Hermione, I must ask you not to speak of this to anyone. Ùrgaelach serves as a guardian of this forest, and she brings me news of the goings-on inside. There are many in the wizarding world that would do anything to gain a horn from a unicorn of her years.'

'Of course, Professor. I will not betray your trust.'

Minerva's smile was barely visible in the starlight.

'No, my dear, I dare say you will not.'

There was a moment of silence and then Minerva continued on in a low voice. 'I also need to thank you for what you did. I owe you so much for granting me the opportunity to restore my health, and I fear that I may never repay you for your gift.'

'I would have done anything to keep you safe.'

The words spilled out of Hermione's mouth without conscious thought.

Minerva regarded her silently.

'If...' Hermione began, and then stalled before more words could come out unbidden. She couldn't bring herself to meet Minerva's eyes. Swallowing thickly, Hermione tried again. 'If I could ask for one thing in return...'

Minerva finally spoke when it became obvious that no more words would follow.

'What would that be, Hermione?'

Hermione finally looked up at the gentle whisper of her name. There was not enough light reflecting off the snow to see the colour of Minerva's eyes, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of the unicorn's dark gaze.

She had felt impossibly young then too.

'A kiss.'

Her voice had been hoarse as she said it. She was standing in the woods, up to the top of her boots in the March snow, her breath forming clouds of ice crystals, and she had just asked the impossible of a woman who she had known for almost half of her life.

It was impossible to tell how long Minerva watched her - time seemed to have slowed. Hermione's heart was beating hard, and her numb fingers were tangled up in each other.

A touch on her face brought her back to the present. The hand on her cheek was cool, but gentler than she could have ever imagined.

'Hermione,' Minerva began, and already Hermione knew that Minerva was going to refuse based on her tone alone - measured and careful.

Her heart sank.

' _Please_ ,' Hermione whispered, eyes beginning to burn. 'Just once - it's all that I've wanted.'

But not all I wished for, she finished silently.

Minerva's hands slipped down to cup Hermione's jaw, the touch so light that it tickled her skin.

'I cannot give you more, Hermione.'

But then Hermione's chin was being tilted upwards and Hermione couldn't help but close her eyes at the soft lips tracing the cupid's bow of her mouth. Long fingers were brushing Hermione's hair away from her face, easing their way through her scalp in the same way that one might pet a cat.

After the space of several more heartbeats, Hermione felt Minerva begin to pull back from the kiss.

Hermione wasn't quite sure why it happened at that moment, but something inside her snapped. She sniffed once, stumbled forward and wrapped her arms around a too-thin waist, burying her face into Minerva's robes.

To her surprise, Minerva did not stiffen. She held her close and did not let go until Hermione was ready.


End file.
